The Children of the Sky (54 page)

“We lost the other wagons. But yes, I got us through the night. I’m not sure I can get us through this day. We are in such deep trouble. These packs are all employed by Tycoon, at least indirectly. The inn at the bottom of this winch drop is owned by Tycoon. That pack is spreading his influence all through the Wild Principates, not conquering anybody, just making money.”

Jefri was silent, so Ravna said the obvious: “But Tycoon is hunting us.”

“Yup. The temporary good news is that Tycoon’s schemes are so spread out that he can’t keep track of them. Heh,” Amdi emitted a Flenserish chuckle. “The Winchmaster knows humans are important, but he doesn’t know we’re fugitives. Same for the Innmaster below. For the moment, they think that helping us will get them Tycoon’s good will and make them some money in the process.”

The platform shuddered, its smooth descent shifting back to jerk-at-a-time mode.

Amdi said something to the crew pack, and at the same time stuck a head over the railing. “Looks like we’re less than a hundred meters up. Our pilot says we’ll be slowing soon.” He fell back from the railing and hissed at Ritl. “I can’t stand it. This
monster
is feeding me pictures!” Some of him staggered around for a moment, then settled securely on the decking. “… Okay, where was I?”

“Explaining how you persuaded these folks to cooperate.”

“Yes. Once I realized they were Tycoonists and that they were ignorant of
us
, I thought maybe we could pretend to be almost what we are. I showed them Chitiratifor’s badge of introduction.” Amdi stuck a snout into one of his pockets and pulled out the edge of the jeweled badge. “I told them we were on a special mission from the North, how you were an embassy from the humans, and to be protected.”

“That’s good, Amdi!”

Amdi brightened at the praise. “It might have worked, too. I doubt if there are any of our stolen radios in these parts. It might be tendays before Tycoon hears about us.” He slumped a little lower. “The problem was that everybody was laughing too hard to take my story seriously.” He glared at Ritl. “The animal just kept blabbering around, making everything I said into a stupid joke. The Winchmaster finally congratulated me on my
act
!”

“Huh?” came Jefri’s voice. “He thinks you’re acting about what?”

Their platform jerked to a full stop. The crew pack—their pilot?—scrambled up a ladder to the roof. She could hear him spread out across the lightweight planking. His shouts were very loud, and seemed to be directed upwards. Faint shouting came back in response. Ravna leaned out, looked up. Their cable disappeared into drizzle and cloud deck. It occurred to her that shouting back and forth was the only feedback system available. This made flying in Scrupilo’s first
Eyes Above
seem like a happy holiday.

But now they were almost even with the gables of a half-timbered structure, the ground just a few meters below. She saw packs there, peeking out from beneath heavy awnings.

Their pilot spoke an imperative chord.

Amdi translated: “Stay back from the railing!”

The platform edged downward, five centimeters to a jerk. The kherhogs were getting wild-eyed, but Screwfloss’ intimidating hisses kept them knees-down on the platform. There was a prolonged crunching sound from beneath the platform. They fell another couple centimeters, and then Jefri’s side tilted down a couple of centimeters more. Chorded yodeling sounded from beyond the railing, something Ravna recognized as “Well done, well done!” Their pilot came hustling down the ladder, looking all casual and professional. Ravna noticed, however, that he flinched as much as anyone at the extended crashing noise on the roof he’d just left. Falling cable slack? In any case, the crashing stopped; the Winchmaster, somewhere up beyond the clouds, must realize that the job was done.

As the pilot lifted the railing gate, Screwfloss was all over the kherhogs. Out in the rain, a pack was adjusting a ramp next to the tilted edge of the platform. Yeah, just another routine sky-ferry touchdown. It seemed very appropriate that Ritl chose that moment to clamber atop the wagon and start shouting orders at everyone.

Amdi gathered himself together, adjusting his cloaks and leggings. The human little boy voice gave an occasional whimper, but in a few seconds he looked as imposing as he had when first she saw him this morning. As the winch-pilot came back and undid the ties on the livestock—kherhog and human—Amdi strolled over to the gate and waved a gracious snout or two at the packs who were coming out from the inn. “I’ll go ahead. If you come down right after me … well, I’ve got my speech planned, the story I finally had to settle on: See, the Innmaster thinks we’re a travelling entertainment troupe. ‘The Magnificent Amdiranifani, Master of Fragments and Zombies from Lands of Mystery.’ And”—
wail
—“our first big show is tonight!”

Jefri and Ravna were housed in a stable again. Otherwise, things were much improved. Amdi had persuaded these people that the humans could not form godlike packs. True, they were amazing creatures, naturally clever singletons. Jefri and Ravna recognized the word for “walking corpses” when they were paraded from the winch carriage. The notion predated the arrival of humans: imagine thought without sound. Apparently, this added enormously to the interest in Amdi’s upcoming show.

The inn’s stable was high-ceilinged, dark, and only moderately smelly. Like the rest of the inn, it stood well away from the deadly jumble of boulders at the base of the cliff.

“After last night, I don’t even mind these,” Jefri said, shaking the kherhog fetters that bound his wrists. Since Amdi and the innsfolk had left, Jef had scouted out the loft and the various wagons parked on the main floor. “And for the moment, I think we’re as safe as we’ve been since before Chitiratifor.”

“Yes.” Ravna munched on the last of the yams—served on wooden platters, the kind the local Tines themselves ate from. “It helps to have a friendly guard.”

“Guard” was how Amdi had identified Screwfloss to their new hosts. The term was at least an overstatement. Remnant Screwfloss was content to sit by the main door and watch the outside through various knotholes. He hadn’t been at all bothered by Jefri’s explorations. And yet, when the locals were around, he was surprisingly guardlike, flicking a whip threateningly at Jefri and Ravna.

Jefri walked back from the kherhog stalls and squatted down just a meter from the remnant pack. “You’re more together, aren’t you?”

The pack’s whip didn’t twitch. After a moment, his heads bobbed and he gobbled a few chords.

“Wow. That sounds as though he understood your Samnorsk!”

“Yes. He didn’t say much more than ‘I’m okay,’ but it matched my question.” Jefri reached out to pat the nearest shoulder. “That happens sometimes, you know. A member with a critical talent gets killed, and the other parts slowly learn to fill in the function. He may never be really smart, but…”

Ravna eyed the pack’s smudged disguise. “But we know he was a mix of very clever parts.”

“Um. Yes.”

Throughout the afternoon, they heard wagons and packs outside. Through the knotholes, they could see two packs just beyond the walls. Were those to keep the curious out, or the zombies in? In any case, Jefri and Ravna had time to clean up and speculate on what kind of show a two-legs circus act could put on. Ritl came down from the loft and blabbered and blabbered, despite obvious threats from Screwfloss. Most of her complaints seemed to be about being locked up here, but when the real guards opened the door in mid-afternoon to bring in water, Ravna noticed that the singleton stayed clear of the doorway. Maybe she was saving her serious troublemaking for Amdi—or maybe she had a certain animal caution: In some Tinish cultures, loose singletons were fair game for murder, rape, or impressment into transient slave packs.

About an hour after the water delivery, Screwfloss abruptly came to his feet. Ritl gave a startled yelp and made a quick retreat toward the loft, but Screwfloss’ attention was on the knot holes in the stable wall. He gestured Jefri and Ravna to back away.

Now Ravna could hear the gobbling of multiple packs approaching. Riding above that noise was a little boy’s voice: “Hei Jefri. Hei Ravna. Look harmless!”

Then the stable door was slid to the side. Besides the two fellows who had been there all day, there were three other packs, one of them Amdi. They strolled in, each clumped together—the normal comportment of strangers. One of the visitors was a swaggering sixsome, with members as big as Amdi’s.

Amdi waved for Screwfloss to back off and give the visitors space. He was talking to the strangers, saying something grandiloquent. At the same time, he said in Samnorsk: “The six-pack is the Innmaster. He wanted to see you before the show. He’s fascinated by the whole concept of two-legs, but I think he’s a little frightened of you, too. If we can convince him you’re no danger, things could go a lot smoother.”

Jefri said, “You could order me forward, Amdi. Then let this guy get close.”

“Okay. But you gotta look meek.”

There was gobbling back and forth between Amdi and the other packs. Everybody was speaking more slowly than packs usually did. Ha. Ravna suddenly realized that Amdi had his own language issues with these fellows. The result was a substantial simplification in everybody’s speech. The words weren’t stacked quite as deep and there was some repetition. Amdi was assuring them there was no need to restrain the humans. Abruptly, he waved at Jefri. Jef came out of the shadows to stand just centimeters from the nearest of Amdi. Then he dropped to his knees. Now his face was just about at eye level with the largest pack members. “That meek enough?”

Amdi cocked a head in the direction the Innmaster. “I don’t see how we could do better.” He said something encouraging to the Innmaster—and then all of him stepped back and waved encouragingly for the sixsome to approach.

Ravna realized that she was holding her breath. She rarely saw any Tines who were unfamiliar with humans, and when she did, they were in no position to do harm. Here, now, Jefri was meeting a dangerous stranger.

The Innmaster had lost his swagger. His eyes had widened and some of him fidgeted with the jaw hatchets in his panniers. The prospect of getting closer to Jefri was clearly unnerving. But after a moment, the pack seemed to remember he had witnesses. He stood a little taller and—thank the Powers—stopped fiddling with the hatchets. He boomed something confident at the other packs and sidled around Jefri. Now he was making the sort of placating sounds that packs (some packs—not Screwfloss) made when they were trying to gentle a kherhog.

Jefri sat back on his heels and made no effort to track the members who were circling him.

The nearest of the Innmaster was well inside Jefri’s reach—and suddenly the critter seemed to realize as much. It stopped, licked its lips. Then it jabbed out a nose, tapping Jefri on the shoulder. Jefri just smiled back, not showing any teeth. The sixsome hesitated a moment more, then closed in all around, slapping Jefri on the back, almost as hard as one would pat a kherhog. At the same time, most of him turned to face the doorway and made loud conversation with the other packs.

Amdi provided some translation: “‘See,’ he’s saying, ‘it’s every bit as docile as I knew it would be.’”

The critter was grinning from one end to the other. If these people had had cameras, he surely would have been demanding the others take video of his triumph.

“Now he wants me to prove that you’re clever like a pack.” Amdi gabbled something at the Innmaster. “I told him that would have to wait for our big show tonight.”

The sixsome huffed impatiently. Two of him were pulling Jefri’s shirt out of his pants, examining the fabric. For a moment, Ravna thought the fellow was going to argue. But then the Magnificent Amdiranifani moved a little closer and delivered some kind of bombast. If Ravna hadn’t known him for ten years, she would have been intimidated. Certainly, the Innmaster was impressed. He gave Jefri a couple more patronizing thumps, at the same time surreptitiously trying to tear off some of his shirt—but then he stepped back.

Innmaster and maestro chatted amiably for a few moments. It wasn’t quite casual, since the Innmaster was still mostly watching Jefri, and two heads were aimed at Ravna; she’d finally been noticed lurking in the shadows. But he was no longer insistent. In fact, he looked downright thoughtful. He asked if Amdiranifani needed anything more. Amdi’s reply was something about privacy and … huh, toys?

In the brightness beyond the doorway, a crowd of locals had gathered, standing so close to one another that there was some actual pushing and shoving. They were so close and dense that Ravna could feel the buzzing. The Innmaster stepped out of the stable and jabbered rapidly at the crowd. Ravna heard the “big show tonight” chord several times.

As the crowd dispersed, the Innmaster’s assistant returned with a wheelbarrow piled high with colored balls and cloaks. He brought two more loads of mysterious gear. Then he and Amdi cooperated in sliding the door shut.

And they were alone, their guards presumably keeping the curious away from the stable. The secret preparations of the Magnificent Amdiranifani could begin.

Amdi unlocked the fetters that bound Jefri and Ravna. He and Jefri lit a couple mantle lamps and hung them above the wheelbarrows. Ravna was already digging through the “toys.” There were colored balls, four whips, cloaks, and wooden tines. All that was just in the first wheelbarrow. She looked up from the junk, at Amdi. “Jefri and I have been trying to imagine what this big show is going to be.”

The Magnificent Amdiranifani drooped. “Yes. Me too!”

As usual, Amdi was very short on confidence. However, he did have the beginnings of a plan. There was a purpose for the gear the Innmaster had left them. “It’s from the last circus that came through here,” said Amdi.

Jefri picked up one of the colored balls, tossed it at a nearby pillar. The rebound was lively; this must be Tropical latex. Such items should not be cheap in the local economy.